


be this, while life is mine

by anticyclonerollingstone



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Christianity, M/M, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13995948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclonerollingstone/pseuds/anticyclonerollingstone
Summary: Though there were a dozen other ways Farrier could spend his Sunday morning, he was not about to deny himself Collins's company, even if it was in church, before God and the world alike.





	be this, while life is mine

**Author's Note:**

> title from the hymn "when morning gilds the skies."
> 
> ambiguously pre-war.

     The first time they had finally stolen away on a weekend pass together, Farrier had awoken to find Collins fumbling for his clothes in the early morning light. Collins was never one for one waking up early or on his own volition at all, even when he had to. Farrier had nearly bolted up, but thought better of it and contained himself, hoping his concern wouldn’t show through his quiet _where are you going?_ from under the covers.

    If his apprehension was audible, Collins didn’t acknowledge it.

    "Church," Collins said, as if Farrier should have known, and perhaps he should have. Farrier melted with relief into the mattress. 

    "Oh, Collins," Farrier sighed, reaching out for him lazily until Collins slid back into bed and into Farrier's arms, half-dressed, smelling freshly of something slightly nicer than army soap. “I know you have your qualms about all this, but if you're going to have to go to church every time - " 

    “Farrier,” Collins said sharply, and Farrier could feel Collins’s muscles tense against his arms, “it’s not like that and you know it."

    Farrier hummed in mock skepticism, knowing he should apologize but not having it in him yet, and Collins pinched his arm for it. 

    "Alright," Farrier said, an apology enough. Collins huffed an annoyed sigh, but his shoulders relaxed. He dwelled a moment in the silence and the warmth before wriggling out of Farrier’s grasp to finish getting dressed, doing up his buttons and smiling to himself, not looking conscious of it.

    "Come with me," Collins said, looking back at Farrier. Farrier grumbled and dropped his forearm over his eyes.

    Being pulled into church every week - sometimes more than once - as a child had been more than enough religion for Farrier’s lifetime. He no longer resented it, but still met it with discomfort. Still, when Collins often raised his Christianly concerns in passing, still warmly holding onto his faith, Farrier would listen and nod, understanding but not quite. 

    “Collins, I really - “

    "I know you don't like it, but it's better than staying here alone," Collins said. He dutifully threw back the covers on the room's second bed and rumpled the sheets, turning to pull a pillow out from under Farrier's head and return it to its place on the other bed. Something in the motion of it all filled Farrier with a warmth he couldn’t place.

    “You’re not incorrect,” Farrier said. The room was cold and tinged with the smell of mildew, and though there were a dozen other ways Farrier could spend his Sunday morning, he was not about to deny himself Collins's company, even if it was in church, before God and the world alike. 

    "We can sit in the back and leave early if you'd like," Collins offered, sitting down on the other bed to put on his socks.

    "Oho, rebellious,” Farrier said.

    Collins rolled his eyes, looking painfully boyish.

    "Just get up."

    So Farrier did. While Collins combed his hair Farrier shrugged on his uniform and dramatically fussed over its creases the way Collins tended to do with his own. Collins watched him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, just barely hiding his amusement at Farrier’s theatrics. When Farrier was through and nodded that he was ready to go, Collins adjusted Farrier’s tie with a smirk and a kiss, needing as always to have the last word. 

    They made their way down the narrow stairs and onto the street, and Farrier welcomed the sun on his face in the rare cloudless morning. The spring air was crisp and cool, the humidity and fresh sun hinting at a warmer noontime that would prickle at the backs of their collars. 

    Collins led Farrier to some small church a short walk away, bumping his arm against Farrier’s all the way there, chattering quietly about going to mass as a child and stepping on the backs of his sister’s shoes until his mother scolded him for it. 

    Farrier planted himself at the end of a back pew, feeling even there that the entire congregation’s eyes were on him and could see that he was some sort of anomaly in the chapel. The few times through his adulthood when he had set foot in a church, usually only at another's invitation, had always brought up feelings from his boyhood. Stepping into church or sitting through a prayer dredged up an emotional sensation similar to the one bound to the memory of sheepishly returning home after leaving in anger, avoiding his parents out of embarrassment until things were more or less forgotten.   

    Collins, sitting down next to Farrier, leaned his knee into Farrier's and Farrier looked up at him. The morning sun caught Collins's hair through the modest stained glass, a rosy halo around his profile. He could fit in with the figures on the windows, Farrier thought, with his simple features and the sun's willingness to cling to him even on more dreary days. 

    “Just say the word whenever you want to leave,” Collins said softly. 

    Farrier had nodded, but stayed through the entire service. Somewhat enthralled, he watched Collins pray, precious moments where he could keep his limbs and fingers still, something likely trained into him at the threat of being swatted with a ruler. It was small small privilege, Farrier realized in a dizzying rush of warmth, to see this part of Collins. Collins looked over at him frequently, as if gauging his comfort, and Farrier acted as if he didn't notice. 

    As they were dismissed Collins elbowed Farrier in the arm and flashed him a warm and grateful smile. 

    “What?” Farrier asked as they stepped into the light of late morning. 

    “Thank you,” Collins said.

    “What for?”

    “Coming with. Staying,” Collins said. Farrier only shrugged and hummed his response, knocking their shoulders together as they walked. 

    Farrier politely insisted on buying Collins a late breakfast, and Collins quietly fought him on it, leaning over the tabletop on his elbows while Farrier sat leaned against the back of his seat impassively. 

    Collins resented money, having never had enough, and he had made it known to Farrier quite early and quite angrily that he especially loathed having money spent on him. Farrier resented money himself because there had always been too much of it, and he resented engaging with it, though he still often did so without thinking. Spending money on Collins, however, felt entirely right, and not because he felt that Collins required it. If only Collins could understand the sentiment of it all without Farrier having to say it aloud.  

    “I can pay my own way, you know,” Collins said, “you don’t have to cover for me, it’s not as if I haven’t got any money at all.” 

    “Perhaps I’d like to pay, Collins,” Farrier said, “I know you have money. It’s not like that.”

    “Then what?”

    “I went to church with you, and now I want to buy you breakfast. It’s only fair. Now just let me buy breakfast and you can pay next time. No, better, you can buy me a drink tonight.” 

    Collins stared at him but finally leaned back in his own chair with his arms crossed, a look of newly-realized understanding set into his face under a heavier expression of resignation. 

    “Fine. Thank you,” Collins said stiffly. 

    “Thank you, Collins,” Farrier said, and Collins rolled his eyes but laughed, and the tension disappeared from the table. 

    Collins blushed as he haltingly ordered a breakfast that consisted mostly of various fruit that he clearly considered too indulgent, and Farrier found it painfully and shamefully endearing. Collins caught Farrier holding back a smile, kicked him under the table, and blushed brighter. Farrier apologetically found Collins’s eyes and smiled and was kicked again while Collins stifled a laugh. 

    Farrier felt horribly vulnerable there, waiting for their food to be brought to them with nothing to occupy their eyes or their conversation. Each time their eyes wandered back to each other, one of them would duck away, smiling. Any other day there would have been broken chatter between them about the latest scandal at the station, a problem with a stubborn engine, the latest rumors of the inevitable war creeping closer and closer. But instead there was silence, fond jocular glances, and an icy swell in Farrier’s stomach at the realization that there was no place he would rather be than wherever Collins happened to be, be it in church, or sleeping too late, or flying into war, or anywhere else. 

    _Oh, Collins, you bastard_ , Farrier thought.

    Relief fell over them both as their food was finally set down to displace the silence. 

    Collins carefully ate his breakfast and drank his watered-down juice, seemingly still aware of the price tags and the rationed values of his meal. Farrier watched him in short glances. It was far from the first time that Farrier had bought breakfast for a man while run off for a weekend. Farrier was long familiar with the particular brand of discretion that accompanied such situations, but frighteningly unfamiliar with the desire to lean across the table and kiss Collins there and then for as long as the world would allow it. He settled instead for pressing his knees against Collins’s under the table. 

   “You’re not eating,” Collins observed, and Farrier nearly jumped at the interruption. 

    Farrier froze and looked up from absently picking at his food. He hadn’t realized that he wasn’t eating, and found that the thought of putting food in his mouth overwhelmed him. There was no room in him left for food, not with the lurching knot in his stomach trying to leap up his throat. 

    “Not especially hungry,” Farrier said, thoroughly surprised that he could speak without vomiting. 

    “Are you alright?”

    “Just thinking,” Farrier said, _about all the trouble I've gone and gotten myself into,_ though there was no other trouble he would rather be in.

    "What about?" Collins asked, resting his fork on the edge of his plate. 

    “Not much of anything,” Farrier said. Collins laughed softly to himself as if it didn’t surprise him. 

    “Be careful, then,” Collins said, and returned to his food.

    After breakfast, half of which Farrier did manage to eat, they had spent the afternoon wandering elbow-to-elbow through town, smoking and talking. They shared an unfulfilling dinner, no better or worse than anything they were used to, and Collins toted Farrier off to make a show of buying him a drink. 

    A familiar face, an older airman by the name of Barker approached to clap Farrier on the shoulder before he went on his way, and Farrier enthusiastically introduced Collins to him. When Barker turned to leave with a nod and a smile after a short conversation, Farrier laughed to himself, overjoyed in a way he couldn’t explain. 

    "You're showing me off," Collins had muttered, his face bright red even in the low light. 

    "Would you rather I didn't?" Farrier asked, and Collins blushed further and ducked his head to hide it. 

    Collins bought them each one more drink, his face glowing pink, and Farrier suggested a quiet and early exit.

    “If you insist," Collins said.

    They took their time walking through the cool of the night to their room, where Collins pulled Farrier into bed almost before he could lock the door behind them.

    "A lot of good going to church did you," Farrier teased as Collins tried to kiss him.

    "I'll leave you here," Collins threatened, though he was pulling Farrier closer by the front of his shirt as he said it.  

    That night when Collins had finally ceased his fidgeting and settled in, pressed next to Farrier in the too-narrow bed, Farrier nudged him under the covers with his foot.

    "Collins?" Farrier asked, and Collins grumbled something into the pillow in protest at having his fall into sleep disrupted. 

     Collins was buried in the bulk of Farrier’s sweater, which he had swept up off the floor insisting that he hated to be cold at night, and pulled it over his head while Farrier grumbled that he might get cold, too. Collins assured Farrier that he wouldn’t let Farrier freeze to death and shrugged into the sleeves that Farrier had incorrectly expected to be too short on Collins’s arms.Collins sprawled half-asleep in Farrier’s own sweater struck Farrier as more intimate than anything else, and certainly worth the chill.  

    "Hm?" Collins's response came, voice heavy but present. He shifted his legs under the covers, the shuffling blankets deafening in the quiet.

    "Do you pray for me?" Farrier asked, as if it was nothing, the same way he would ask if Collins wanted coffee. Collins stirred back into greater wakefulness and yawned, shifting again, and in the faint orange light spilling under the door from the corridor Farrier could see something unidentifiable flash across Collins’s face. Farrier wished at once for the clarity that more light would bring but found comfort in the stifling dimness that dampened any uncertainty or whatever else might be on either of their faces. 

    "Every day," Collins said simply.

    “Do I need praying for?” Farrier asked. Collins sighed. 

    “It’s not like that,” he said, a slight hesitation in his voice, “I think we all do, but it’s not like that."

    "What's it like, then?" Farrier asked. Collins stayed still and silent, almost expectant, as if Farrier should have know the answer. Collins finally nudged Farrier with his foot under the blankets in a forgiving motion.

    “I’d like to think I can do something to keep us both here," Collins said, factually, as if he expected Farrier to make a comment about the futility of it all. 

    "Oh, Collins," Farrier sighed, and unable to say more he reached out for Collins, pulling him against his chest and burying his nose in Collins's hair. Collins allowed the embrace, lying uncharacteristically still and patient until Farrier released him, and Collins returned to his own pillow, tucking his nose into the crook of his sweatered elbow.

    "Good night, Farrier," Collins said. 

    "Good night," Farrier said, and then lightly kicked at Collins again, "and don't forget to say your prayers."  

    "Fuck off. Say your own," Collins grumbled, but a smile still bubbled in his voice, "it wouldn't hurt you to be thankful." 

    “Oh?” Farrier laughed, meaning to follow it with a tired remark on Collins's ego, but resigned to laughing to himself. Collins kicked him under the covers once more to shut him up before pressing their knees together.

    Farrier listened for Collins to fall asleep, which he did as quickly as always, easing into the slow steady breathing that was always so hard to wake him from. In his sleep, Collins shifted closer to Farrier and sniffled softly.

    Farrier hadn't prayed in years, not in his adult life, not when his father died, not even in the midst of anything that had gone wrong for him in the air. He had forgotten how, unsure of where to begin or even how to fold his hands. But, Farrier decided, and Collins would have said it sounded very Protestant, any God who would be willing to hear a request from a man like him wouldn’t give much of a damn about the manner in which he asked for it. So Farrier closed his eyes and offered up a short and sheepish silent prayer of thanks for Collins’s life, and then for his own, and shyly requested that Collins’s body stay as warm and and as secure as it was there next to him, bundled in his sweater. 

    Farrier would wake the next morning on the edge of the mattress, holding fast to Collins, who would be sprawled across the bed in a mess of too many limbs. Farrier would shove him fondly back to the other side of the bed and fall half-asleep with his face in Collins's shoulder and an arm across his chest, luxuriating in the sunlit warmth of life until the time came to push Collins out of bed entirely, get into their own clothes, and return to the lives they signed up for.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a small flashback in [ this fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118136) but it got out of hand.
> 
> you can find me [@thehubbins on twitter](http://twitter.com/thehubbins) or [@hubbins on tumblr](http://hubbins.tumblr.com) and i'm always happy to talk.


End file.
